


shattered and laid bare

by mightyleviathan



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Divorce, Gen, im imagining jason is like 7 in this, literally just if breakfast over sugar was at 4am and it took place like 1990 or later, modern-ish AU, pre-whizzer divorce, this is basically how i think their marriage would end if it weren’t the 70s??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightyleviathan/pseuds/mightyleviathan
Summary: The bags under eyes are heavier than usual. So is the weight that lurks at his shoulders. His ill-fitting suit is horrendously rumpled, and the curls she often runs her fingertips through, pretending she doesn’t notice his flinch are busting out of the haphazard gel he shoves in it before he leaves for work. He’s not sleeping, even when he gets home on time. She’s not getting much either.“We can’t keep doing this.” he says quietly
Relationships: Marvin & Trina (Falsettos)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	shattered and laid bare

Creak. Close. Shoes kicked off at the door. The mat slips, jacket is hung. It used to happen every few months. Then every once a month. Then twice a month. 

It was now twice a week. She’d sleep fitfully and wake at his presence. Two A.M.. Three. Four, once. The sixth stair squeaking as he’d sneak into their en-suite to brush his teeth and shake out his hair, climb into his underclothes and creep into bed beside her. She’d shift, but never speak. Or even open her eyes.

Sometimes, he’d hold her hand. He never held her.

Door, shoes, rug, jacket. This time, it’s four-fifteen. 

The step doesn't squeak. She waits for it, but it never comes. 

She tries to relax, push it _(him)_ out of her mind but there’s something that nags her. Tugs at that part of her brain that kept her up that night when she didn’t know it; but Jason had a pain in his eye which turned into a night at the emergency room. The night she cooed about in his ear when she’d read that one book to him at night, _‘Miss Clavel turned on her light and said, ‘something is not right!’_

It’s not for Jason, but again she feels that _tug. Something_ has been building for so long; a living ghost stalking their home. She lays there, wishing it away. _Not tonight,_ she pleads. _Later. Let me have tonight._

It persists. Dread fills her up until she’s bursting out of her skin. Resigned, she lifts the covers and shivers at the cold of the hardwood floors of the brownstone. It’s almost June.

He’s sat at the round, wooden kitchen table they picked out together. They didn’t get it until Jason was two. They only got it after her mother visited for the first time in almost a year, every word from her mouth a jab. There were toys on the floor, so she lived in a dump. Trina worked part time, she was wasting her son’s childhood. They ate at what was _practically an end table, what kind of example are you setting for him, Trina!?_ Every part of their relationship was rushed and panicked and hurried; With the pregnancy and moving in together and the shotgun wedding her parents tried their hardest to make look like it wasn't a shotgun wedding. A large bouquet she wasn't to move from her abdomen, just in case someone guessed. All the work spent on the apartment was limited to the nursery. The dash continued, adapting over the years to cooking and shopping and laundry and optometrist appointments. 

The days have been dragging lately, and it’s not the relief she once thought it would be. It leaves room for pained silences filled with unanswered questions. Afternoons where trepidation worms its way up her spine and she has nothing to do but look out the kitchen window and think. She sees her dread reflected in him.

They don’t know how to be married without stress. Without excuses for them not to spend time together

Her housecoat drapes around her calves as she leans on the wooden archway; watching him watch the table. His eyes trace over where Jason dug into the grain with a green colored pencil, attempting to carve his name- just as he’d done on the trim and doors. Adorning the flesh of their home with marks of his adolescence, there to stay until someone erases it. He looks like shit. The bags under eyes are heavier than usual. So is the weight that lurks at his shoulders. His ill-fitting suit is horrendously rumpled, and the curls she often runs her fingertips through, pretending she doesn’t notice his flinch are busting out of the haphazard gel he shoves in it before he leaves for work. He’s not sleeping, even when he gets home on time. She’s not getting much either.

“We can’t keep doing this.” he says quietly, playing with his hands in his lap.

Trina nods her head as he looks away, swallowing the lump that climbs into her throat from the pit of her stomach, where the ever-growing dread dwells. She sniffles and turns her cheek to covertly wipe away a tear with the back of her shaky hand. If Marvin criticizes her for crying too much, accusing her of using it to guilt him, she can’t be held responsible for what she does to him. “I know.” she says.

She didn’t. Sure, things had been more tense, but they’ve been pretending everything’s fine for years. She’s been holding up her part of their unspoken deal. Dutifully taking care of Jason, working, making dinner, not asking questions. _Where’s he been?_

“I’m sorry.”

“Mmm.” she tries to disguise the strangled noise that threatens to rip from her as a hum. “So, what. This is it, then?” she chokes out, poorly miming apathy. 

“I’m sorry.” he repeats.

Trina shakes her head again. _Now. Now,_ _he’s sorry._ “What are we gonna tell Jason?”

“I called out of work tomorrow. We can figure it out when he’s at school.” 

He knew Wednesday was her day off. He knew Jason would be out of the house early in the morning, leaving them several hours alone. He called his boss _in advance._

“I want shared custody. At _least_ weekends. I’ll get my own place, you can keep the house.” It’s all business. Distant. It dawns on her that the bastard must have called his lawyer already. He’s looking at her now, so she sees the breath hitch in his throat. “I'll pay… whatever you want in child support, alimony. I don’t want a battle, I just want to be able to see him.”

It’s the most emotion she’s seen from him for a while. At least he still loves their son. “I don’t want your money.” she says on instinct.

“Trina-“

“Stop.” She knows what he was gonna say. She’s a part-time librarian, how can she afford rent _here,_ afford to raise Jason on her own? “Weekends.” she agrees, shakily. “It would be too much for him to move around right now, with school. Maybe when he’s older, we can trade weeks or something.” The thought of him being with him and not her, for _any_ amount of time makes her want to disintegrate. He’s been her reason for existing since the moment she found out she was pregnant. It hurts enough that he’s getting old enough to reject her. It’s selfish, but she needs him now more than ever. As infuriating and obnoxious and cruel as he can be, she thinks she might die if she doesn’t have a tight, taloned grip on him. “No way in hell I’m raising him by myself. A boy needs a father.” 

Every child needs a mother more.

A fire rages in her chest at the thought of him having another.

Trina crosses her arms across her chest defensively. “I want to meet her. Before she meets him.”

He scrunches his face at her. “What?”

“He needs stability. I need to make sure she’s not going to make things worse than they already are.”

“Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait.” he waves his hands in front of himself, beckoning her to stop. “What are you talking about? Who is _she?”_ he sounds so _tired._

“Oh, don’t make me say it.” she spits. He stares at her blankly, before shrugging exaggeratedly, as if to say _what do you want me to do then?._ “Your _whore.”_

He stares. “My _what?!”_

“Whoever the girl you're always off with now is. I figure this one must be sticking if you’re finally leaving.”

“The girl I’m- _what?”_ he squeaks, then deflates at the desperation he must see in her eyes. “Okay, first of all, I’m not _leaving._ We’re getting a divorce-“ she flinches at the word, the finality of hearing it. “-but you are not getting rid of me. No way in hell. Second, there is no _whore.”_

“I’m not an _idiot,_ Marvin.” her chest heaves “I thought you knew that much.”

“I think I’m gay.”

  
  
  


He didn’t just say that.

  
  


He didn’t just say _that._

  
  


He didn’t just _say_ that.

“What?” It’s barely a whisper.

“That’s not true.” he says, and she’s not sure if it’s relief or disappointment she feels. “I know. I know I am.” 

She barely hears him over the ringing in her ears. As she collapses in the chair across from him every small moment between them over the years plays in her head as she searches and searches for- _anything._ The gut wrenching grief of _It was never real it was never real he never loved m-_ is only overridden by one thought. 

“So, it wasn’t me?” she asks shakily.

He knows what she means. The look in his eyes tells her more than anything he could say. “I wish it was.”

She nods back, tucking her hair behind her ears with shaking hands as her resolve crumbles, and with an aborted motion puts her face in her hands as the quiet wail of relief and heartache is freed from her chest.

She wishes she were strong enough to push away the arms that loop around her but it’s been so long since someone who was taller than 4’2 held her and despite everything she’s _missed_ him. Missed having someone on her side, a peer, someone to talk to. Missing _the_ someone who cried _with_ her when her baby cried, who fretted over what color to paint the nursery. Who’s heart broke with hers whenever their child was in pain.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” he whispers. His hands shake where they barely grace her shoulders. She can’t do anything but choke a sob in reply. “It’ll be better this way. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> i didn’t mean to write this. i meant to add the basics of the scene into my TRILOGY THOUGHTS google doc of nonsense and ended up writing the whole thing whoops
> 
> hope everyone’s having a good quarantime, i’m ~~~essential so i’m not lmao. kudos and comments are super helpful and encouraging and i love interacting with people who love these shows and characters like i do so please leave me a comment or just hmu on tumblr or discord if you wanna talk!!
> 
> as usual i tried to leave things open to all casting, but for this one i personally imagined marvin as physically a cross between chip zien and christian borle, wearing michael rupert’s marvin’s terrible suit. title is from days and days from fun home because trina has some Big Helen Bechdal Energy. or vice versa
> 
> also, marvin the night in this fic for once was not out late gettin some, but rather pacing around the city like oh fuck am i really gonna do this


End file.
